“A man named Enis?” I can hear you. “That’s preposterous.” You say, “No self-respecting mother names her son Enis,
And no self-respecting boy keeps the name Enis long enough to become a man.
There is no way that Enis exists.
This poem is a sham!”

Well look;
If a tree falls in forest and nobody saw it then how the hell did I just report it?
And why me? How is it that not only do I know about said tree, but it just so happens that I am in a position to tell others?
Because every time you hear nobody hearing a falling tree, I’ll bet that you can picture that tree, and it’s the same one every single time.
So if I mention a tree that doesn’t exist, that you’ve been thinking of your entire life, that tree bursts into reality.

The same way that this poem exists without you hearing it
It only exists because I’ve told you it does, but you don’t doubt its existence.
And there is nothing more real to you than a tree that makes no sound
So now it is true, and that tree collapsed.
You hear a rumour thrice and it then becomes fact, the same way you know the sound when a single hand claps.

No, no, it may not be genius.
But I swear to you, there once was a man named Eenis.

– Scott Sandwich

PS: As it turns out, that tree did crack, killing two koalas and a backpacker on smack. (He was just looking the other way, in fact.)